Weight of living
by ffrackles
Summary: Multichapter story consisting of drabbles consisting of Ian and Mickey and their love for one another. Slightly AU. There's a lot of cursing, because Mickey is involved, and also mentions of sex, drugs, alcohol and bipolar disorder. Angsty most of the time.


**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Shameless. Wish I did though.**

Mickey tried to concentrate on staking the piece of meat with his fork and shoving it into his mouth as he felt the stare of two big brown eyes on him.

He was sitting at the Gallagher's dining table, and no one had spoken for a few minutes. Ian had invited him over, as he had every day for the last three weeks. Yet Fiona wouldn't stop staring at him. He glanced over at Ian, who seemed to be too busy chewing to even notice his sister. Or anyone else for that matter.

"So, Mickey," Fiona finally announced and Mickey lifted his gaze from her red headed brother. "Why exactly are you here?"

He had expected the question for weeks now, Lip was still the only one to knew about him and Ian besides Mandy, and so Mickey continued to eat as he answered her.

"Your food beats the shit I have at home."

In the corner of his eyes, Mickey could see Ian stiffen a little but didn't care too much about it.

"What about your wife, don't you have a kid now?"

"She couldn't care less about where I am."

Again, in the corner of his eyes Mickey saw Ian stiffen, his eyes growing harder as he formed his fists into balls. Mickey never had the chance to really think about it before Fiona continued to speak. He was very aware that everyone was watching him.

"Not to pry," which is exactly what she was doing in Mickey's opinion but he tried not to make such a big deal out of it. It was Ian's family, he didn't want them to completely hate him. "But three weeks ago, I didn't even know you two were friends. So, maybe just, explain to me how that happened?"

"Yeah, how _did_ that happen?" Mickey shot his head to his left, in the direction of Ian's voice. Hard and cold as stone, his eyes bore into his, determined to know the answer. "Why _are_ you here, Mickey? I've invited you over for three weeks, and you can barely even acknowledge me sitting right here beside you. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, fucking _asshole_."

"Ian!" Fiona roared at her brother as he stood up in a swift movement, knocking his glass of milk over, the white fluid spilling onto the floor. "Can you sit back down."

"Not until _he_ tells you why he's here." Ian stared at Mickey, who swallowed hard trying to figure a way out of this. He still wasn't used to Ian's recent mood swings, and from the look of everyone around him, no one else was either.

At the start, they had figured it was the drugs and Mickey went as far to add the pain and heartbreak he'd injected into the younger boy. As much shit as Ian had been through – from Frank and Monica and finding out about being gay, and then recently Mickey marrying the stupid whore after Terry walked in on them, forcing Ian to watch as Mickey was what basically everyone would call being raped. Not to mention the way Mickey had always treated him. So the drugs mixed with all that shit? Mood swings were bound to happen.

They had all worked on getting Ian clean – hell, all of them had stopped with their tiny things just to get him off his heavier – and he'd been clean for two weeks, but the mood swings were still happening. More and more on a regular basis, and Mickey was getting really fucking worried.

"Unbelievable," Ian said more to himself than anyone else before he even gave Mickey the chance to come up with a proper response. "We're _done_, with this, whatever the fuck that is. I can't even fucking look at you."

And with that he slammed the back door closed, leaving Mickey with all eyes on him again. He knew there was no point in following him, he was still too fired up and it would only lead to an argument. And besides, he was still hungry, so he continued to eat slowly as the rest kept staring at him.

"Debbie, Carl, take your plates and Liam and finish in your room."

The kids recognized the tone in their sister's voice all too well and didn't argue with her, no matter how badly they wanted to stay to hear the rest. Mickey could only watch them follow her directions as he waited for the questions that were bound to come. But what would he answer?

He and Ian had a good thing going on, at least he thought so. These three weeks had been good. Terry was back in jail, and that left Ian and Mickey with a little bit of freedom. Svetlana knew about them, but she didn't give a flying fuck, thank god. Mickey had spent a lot of his time over at the Gallagher house, and he'd come to tolerate all of them. Hell, he even liked some of them. Not that he'd ever confess to that.

Deep down he knew that it was bound to come out at some point. They knew Ian was gay, at least Fiona and Lip. He wasn't sure about V and Kev, but they were a weird extended part of the Gallagher family. So they probably knew.

"Why can't my brother look at you and what is he done with?"

"They've been fucking," he heard Lip say casually and Mickey fought the urge to stand up and beat the crap out of him for saying that out loud. He did however throw whatever was closest to him – a fork – toward him. Ducking, the fork hit him at the top of the head and he cursed loudly as he glared at Mickey.

And besides, Ian and Mickey hadn't really fucked since before the wedding. There had been a handjob here and there, mixed in with the occasional blowjob. Not to mention that kiss at the club. But that was pretty much it. They still had too much shit to work through, and now when they both knew no one was really going anywhere, they didn't have to fucking rush things.

So Mickey could feel a lot more guilty than he did.

"They, they've been _what_?" Fiona grasped at the words as her chin fell to the floor. Mickey would have laughed at the sight if it wasn't for the situation. Fuck, wasn't it enough with the people that already knew about him, about them? And now three more people knew, which Mickey really didn't fucking like. He felt like hurting someone, real bad.

And at the same time, it felt good. Maybe now they didn't have to hide all the damn time, at least not everywhere. Maybe now he could stare at Ian all he wanted when he wanted to, he could punch him playfully without anyone wondering why the fuck he did that. He could smile at some stupid ass comment that Ian made without being too fucking careful about it.

If Ian came back that is. Stupid fucking mood swings.

"You heard him," he muttered as he tried to avoid all eye contact.

"How long?"

"Remember when Monica came back that time and tried to take Liam?" Lip asked and Fiona stared at him with wide eyes that clearly asked _that long._ "Yeah, before that."

Fiona's eyes turned back to Mickey and her mouth was in a serious line. "You're telling me you're gay? Mickey Milkovich, _gay_?"

Mickey tried to get the words out, but he couldn't. He could still remember the beating Terry had given Ian all too well, and then later himself. He flinched at the memories, trying to push them back under the surface as far as possible. Drowning them.

How could he admit to being gay to Fiona, in a room full of people, when he couldn't even admit it to Ian? Crazy part was, he fucking loved that kid. Never wanted to, but he did. And still he couldn't fucking admit to being gay. _Fucking coward. _

"Look, that's not the important thing here," Lip interrupted the silence. "Ian is getting worse. And we need to talk about that shit, because it's clearly not the drugs. Or all the shit that caused Ian's early enlisting."

So Lip had figured so much as well.

"What shit?" Fiona looked at Lip now, and Mickey was grateful for once that Ian had told his brother pretty much everything. Because no way in hell he would be able to get those words out of his mouth. Not even for a million bucks.

"Ian's in love with this asshole, don't ask me what the hell he sees in him, but he is. And he confronted him about the wedding before it happened, but when Mickey went through with it anyway, he couldn't fucking face him and he left."

_That's not all of it. _

"Then what else is there?" V asked, and Mickey wondered what she had meant before he realized he had said the words out loud. He glanced at Lip, almost pleading with him. He _couldn't_.

Mickey turned his ears off, a special gift he had gained after growing up a Milkovich, and tried not to focus on Fiona's heartbroken expression when Lip told her all about that morning that Terry had walked in on them. He tried not to focus on her anger, her devastation, but it was hard. It was difficult, because she looked so much like a mother it pained Mickey to see.

She deserved better, and so did Ian. Especially Ian. Red headed Ian, full of freckles and that grin that always reached his eyes. He deserved to always smile, but Mickey had caused him so much pain. How could he love him, how could he even tolerate him. How could he even _want_ to be with him. He didn't deserve him, and Ian, he deserved so much more.

"Do you love him?" Fiona asked after a moment of silence, and all eyes were back on Mickey.

He couldn't get the words out, no matter how badly he wanted that small little _yes_ to travel from his brain and to his mouth. One tiny word. How could it be so fucking hard to say it. Turns out he didn't need to, because Fiona took one hard long look into Mickey's blue eyes and nodded to herself

"That settles it. You're family now. You're a part of Ian's life, and so you're a part of ours. Like it or not. And we're all gonna help Ian the best way we can. By figuring out what's wrong with him."

He wanted to laugh, to ask her what her problem was. She didn't even really know him, and he was _family_ now? He had never known until that moment just how lucky Ian had always been, how protected he was. How loved he was. And it scared him how much this moment warmed him.

"I think he might be pulling a Monica."

They talked for hours, Mickey mostly listening after first arguing with Lip. Ian, bipolar? _No way in fucking hell._ He didn't have a fucking disease. The mood swings had to be something else, something better, something he could _fix_.

But when they all fought him, making more and more points that in fact Ian might be bipolar, Mickey fell in silence and listened. It turned out Fiona and Lip knew quite a lot about the illness, apparently Monica had it. She had refused medications, only making her condition worse. She'd left. She'd come back. She'd left again. Come back again, slit her wrists leaving dark red blood all over the kitchen floor. Then she'd left for the last time. Left his Ian with the same fucking disease.

Mickey tried to shake the thought of Ian lying still in his own pool of blood, red flowing from his wrists. He'd never actually get that bad, right? They'd get him help, get him a diagnosis, medication. He'd _want_ help. Right? He had to. He had to want to get better, he _had_ to want to live. For him. Because Mickey couldn't fucking imagine a world without Ian Gallagher in it.

It was almost midnight when Mickey realized what time it was. Ian still wasn't back, and they hadn't come up with a good plan. Still didn't know who would confront him about it. Fiona thought they should do it together, and by they she meant Lip and her. But honestly, she still seemed shocked about the part Mickey played in all of this, and they were all tired. And they all just wanted Ian to come back. Mickey suggested he'd go find him, but Lip shook his head.

"He's a Gallagher. No matter how bad it gets, we come back. Always do."

The thought didn't comfort him too much, but enough to leave the table and walk up the stairs and into Ian's room. He stood in the door frame for a few moments, taking it all in. Carl was fast asleep in the bunk bed, snores coming from the young boy. Mickey took in the mess on the floor, the t-shirts tossed into the corner beside the bed. He could have sworn one of them belonged to him.

Sitting down on the side of the bed, he slumped back onto his back, kicking off his shoes and twisting his entire body until his face found one of the two pillows sprawled onto the mattress. Taking in the scent, he quickly fell asleep to the smell of Ian comforting him.

It felt like only seconds later that he opened his eyes again, and it took him a moment to remember who's bed he was in. The room was darker than it had been when he'd closed his eyes, and he was about to shut them again when he heard soft footsteps walking up the stairs.

He was standing on his feet in less than a second, and he ignored the spinning of his head as he moved toward the sound. He just managed to reach the door frame when he saw a tall, slender figure round the corner and walk towards him. _Ian_.

Ian stopped in his steps as soon as he noticed Mickey, staring at him for a long time. He wasn't sure what time it was, and he wasn't sure how long he had been gone. He just knew he was tired, both physically and mentally. He was tired of _everything_. But mostly he was tired of being tired.

He stared at Mickey for a long time, both boys standing completely still. When Ian finally opened his mouth, his voice was a lot weaker than he wanted it to be.

"I'm sorry," he knew Mickey heard him, so he continued. Didn't even care about how pathetic he sounded. "We're not done, _I'm_ not at least. I just... I don't know what's wrong with me."

He saw Mickey move closer to him, and he was surprised when the older boy grabbed at his shirt and pulled him close to him. His arms went around him, his hands grabbing firmly at whatever he could reach. Ian didn't hesitate as he pulled his own arms around Mickey, pushing them closer together. But apparently he wasn't satisfied as he somehow managed to pull Ian even closer, as if he wanted to mend the two bodies into one.

Ian rested his face in the crook of Mickey's neck, taking in the soft smell that was Mickey – a mixture of cigarettes and bedsheets that smelled of himself.

He couldn't remember a time when Mickey had actually hugged him, and definitely not like this. There had been playful banters and the occasional hand holding as they fucked, but they had never been this close before. Never close enough for their bodies to be one. Except for the few times they'd kissed.

And as Mickey mumbled that they would figure this shit out, _together_, Ian couldn't hold it in any longer and he cried hard against his boyfriend's shoulder. Because Ian might not know what was wrong with him, but in that moment he knew that Mickey Milkovich believed in him. In them. And that's all he ever needed for him to know that he was gonna be okay. Somehow. Definitely not today, and maybe not six months from now. But one day, and on that day, Mickey would still be there.


End file.
